


gifted

by rockatansky



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Gift Giving, christmas in the wasteland!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 11:08:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5663965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockatansky/pseuds/rockatansky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Christmas. Yes, I know what it is."</p><p>secret santa gift for <a href="http://redrobin.co.vu/">yenna</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	gifted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [damianwayne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/damianwayne/gifts).



> this is my greenplacenet secret santa gift for [yenna](http://redrobin.co.vu/)  
> <3 sorry it's so unforgivably late - tumblr messaging sucks - and the title is embarrassing, but i hope you enjoy!!!

It’s the time of year where the Wasteland is blistering; with days at their longest and the sun relentless, the sand too hot to walk on barefoot. There is no wind, no gritty eyes or scratched skin from airborne dust, but also no form of release from the heat - not even inside the walls of the Citadel, where the air hangs heavy and thick. Even the former Wretched - sun browned and scarred - seek shelter in crevices and shaded outcrops of bleached rock.

The length of time that Max has been gone is starting to become unsettling.

Furiosa is sticky, and she is grumpy, and even the glistening dunes and unbearably clear sky do little to tame the itch under her ribs and inside her skull. The nights are fractionally cooler, and only in the darkest hours, but by then she is so wired up and tense that sleep is impossible, and she finds herself roaming the Garage or pacing the lookout. It is here, bleary-eyed and alone (for Furiosa has a habit of scaring off those who _should be_ on watch), that Capable finds her posted one morning.

The girls are not oblivious. Cheedo, as usual, was the first to notice Furiosa’s wandering, and Toast, as usual, was the first to confront her about it. Telling them that she was fine, she was okay, was easy enough, but getting them to believe her was always going to be the difficult part and so she didn’t even try. Sometimes she wishes she had made the effort, though, because as her tension builds and builds, their worried glances and attempts at comfort only frustrate her.

Capable ignores the obvious fact that Furiosa has been out here all night, and that she hasn't slept properly for what is probably the third day running, and just settles down beside her - holding out a Vuvalini blanket, which Furiosa does not have enough energy to decline. Grasped in Capable's other hand is a bunch of wrinkled, faded pages, ones that Furiosa knows belong in one of the many journals that Joe kept, and her head begins to ache at the thought of long strings of numbers or vacillating supply levels.

When the younger woman holds out a page and points to a word, however, it becomes apparent that the papers are not from a logbook, but a diary.

“Do you have any idea what this is?"

Furiosa recalls Vuvalini exchanging trinkets and old-world objects and then, when they stopped trading at Bartertown, anything they had already or found or made that could be considered worth something - however impractical or ornamental. The burn of a sweet liqueur, then dancing and singing songs - songs that she can no longer remember the words to - around bonfires long into the night

“Christmas. Yes, I know what it is."

“I’ve been looking through his records from longer and longer ago, and it’s only mentioned in the old ones, and only around this time every year. He just stopped writing about it eventually. Something to do with him being the only God. 

Furiosa scoffs, because it’s just so typically Joe - to let his own propaganda consume him. Capable’s looking at her curiously, and she sighs. 

“It was an old-world celebration, a religious thing revolving around the birth of one of their gods. Over time, though, it mainly became about exchanging gifts.” She picks at a loose thread that spirals from the blanket. "The Vuvalini used to use it as a day to come together, because those who could remember Before said it was supposed to be about spending time with people you cared for. It was also meant to revolve around eating and drinking excessively, although that became more difficult."

The thread snaps between her fingers, and it hits Furiosa, as it often does, that these girls have no connection to Before at all. She had the elder Mothers, and to a more unpleasant extent, Joe - who was a relic of the time itself. Yet Capable is looking at her with a wistful fascination, her thumb absentmindedly tracing the word on the page, and it fills Furiosa with something bitter and sad.

 

The thought hangs over her for the next couple of days, and when a train of wagons winds it’s way through the Citadel walls, she finds herself eyeing the odd knick-knacks and old-world junk instead of just trading a few pints of water for gasoline or metal scrap.

That afternoon, she finds her way to Capable.

“I have some things. For you and the others."

There’s a packet of rare seeds for Dag, a rusted locket for Cheedo, an antique pistol for Toast, and for Capable, an actual pen. The ink compartment is empty, but Furiosa has cleaned it of dirt and grime, and it’s outer casing shines. Capable smiles, and her eyes mist over, but she doesn’t say anything other than a small “thank you” and a brief squeeze around Furiosa’s shoulders.

Afterwards, she feels lighter than she has in months.

Over the next week, the girls find their own ways to repay her. She’s patrolling through the Gardens when Dag flits over and hands her an obscenely ripe peach, with an absent-minded kiss on the cheek and a brush of tattooed fingers over Furiosa’s own.

She goes down to the Garage to clean out an old bike, something tedious but necessary, and finds it spotless and purring. She doesn’t see Toast, but one of the Boys says the girl had been there all night working on it, as she trails her fingers along the shining chrome and smiles to herself.

Cheedo finds her one morning, blushing and hesitant, and hands her a scarf. It’s knitted, or crocheted, or something, with thread she must have traded for, and wraps around Furiosa’s neck and lower face as protection against sand and dirt. The fabric is brown and incredibly soft between her fingers. 

“For Christmas.” Cheedo says, and Furiosa beams wide.

 

Capable’s gift comes weeks later, when the itch is back, and she finds herself looking out onto the empty horizon for hours on end. She’s not searching for anything in particular, she tells herself, but whenever theres a trail of dust on the horizon, or a lone vehicle dips and curves over the dunes,  there’s a rush of blood to her ears and she finds her nerves standing on end.

It’s not really a gift at all, more like a miracle, and how the girl does it she can’t possibly know. But the red-head disappears one night, takes a truck and a couple of Boys, and Furiosa thinks she might implode from the panic. Her Sisters are nervous, but not afraid, and yet refuse to tell her anything about where Capable has gone. She stays on lookout and doesn’t sleep.

Two days later, when the midday sun is at it’s highest and hottest, she sees the truck breach the curve of road, and behind it is another vehicle, smaller and familiar.

She’s waiting at the base of the cliffs when they make their way through the Citadel gates. She waits as Capable and the boys jump out the truck, eyes blazing and grins larger than she's ever seen them, and she waits as the car behind them shudders to a halt and Max climbs out. He’s dirty and dishevelled, but she takes him in her arms anyway and bunches up his shirt in her fists. 

There’s a hum, and a pat on the back of her skull. 

“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs into the shell of her ear, and she smiles into his shoulder and decides that, for now, she is just fine.


End file.
